The Innocent and the Beautiful
by Aruchel
Summary: Almost inseparable as children, but not quite so as adults... not that one could blame them. How was it that one made the best of his situation, while the other was driven so drastically off the rails? *Childhood Fic, contains spoilers for AJ, and, to some extent, the rest of the series*
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:** I do not, and it is unlikely that I will ever, own the Ace Attorney series or any of the characters affiliated with it._

_I do, however, own any non-canon characters which may in due course appear._

_~~This is my first, real attempt at a fanfiction. It covers an aspect of the game which has been of interest to me for a while now. I will be updating whenever I can; I will say once a week, but it may be more, depending on how busy I am._

_I appreciate that this is probably the length of a short, but... well, I really like prologues..._

_This is hopefully my last Author's Note for a while now. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and very much appreciated._

* * *

"Mr Gavin!"

"Mr Gavin, what do you have to say on your brother's arrest?"

"Is it true that Kristoph was a suspect in your mother's murder?"

"Do you think that his conviction will blemish your reputation?"

The young prosecutor stared straight ahead, dark glasses shielding his unblinking eyes from the flashes of cameras, as the two officers escorted him through the throngs of journalists towards the waiting vehicle.

"Mr Gavin, if you'd only say something…" a woman in her mid-thirties said, stepping directly in the men's path.

Klavier slowed slightly; the detectives pushed him forwards slightly, shaking their heads. He ignored them, stopping in his tracks. The journalists' shouting grew louder as they encircled him, each trying to raise their microphones above the others.

He removed his sunglasses, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the bursts of light. He turned to the woman who had caught his attention. She seemed caught off-guard that he had actually acknowledged her. She cleared her throat, moving an auburn ringlet away from her eyes. "Mr Gavin… would you say there's a chance that the recent events could have a lasting impact on your law career?"

"My career? Nein," he said, bluntly.

"But, surely…" she began to ask for an explanation, but Klavier had answered enough. He replaced his glasses, and began to move forward, more purposefully than he had previously, towards the car. The shorter of the officers rushed ahead, pulling open the back door. Klavier slipped inside, and the door slammed shut immediately after. For a few seconds, before the officers clambered into the front seats, he was alone. Even though the car was dark, he didn't remove the glasses. He just rested his chin in his hands, unable to think straight about anything.

.-.-.

He remained silent for the entire journey, only to eventually give a small mutter of thanks to the officers as they escorted him past the few eager photographers who were camped out on the pavement outside his apartment block. It was funny; just two weeks ago, when his biggest concern was how to phrase the announcement of the Gavinners' coming tour, he would have basked in the attention, flirting with the pretty Frӓuleins, and maybe just accidentally leaving the window open as he rehearsed.

Not now, though.

He let himself into his apartment, locking the door with the chain behind him, and waded through the magazines, coats, guitar parts, and everything else which covered the floor of his apartment towards the answer machine. He pressed the button, but no one had called. No call from Kristoph, telling him it had all been a misunderstanding. Even Ema had stopped trying to reach him.

With nothing to do, he flicked on the TV, only to be bombarded with the same news bulletin over and over again. He eventually stumbled across a rerun of some British costume drama. He soon reached the conclusion that it was over-dramatic, the men were all idiots, and one of the women rather resembled a horse. What it did provide, however, was background noise.

Leaving Lord and Lady Something to bicker over their daughter's suitor, he reached for the hardly touched book which he'd rediscovered on one of the shelves on the night of Kristoph's conviction. On the first page of his father's posthumous biography, a photograph of the four of them—the family—stared back at him.

The resemblance was striking. His complexion was darker, but Georg Gavin was virtually identical in terms of facial structure to the brother Klavier had met for lunch with just over a week ago.

Kristoph…


	2. Don't Grow Up

"Klavi… Klavier, this isn't funny…" Kristoph sighed, scanning the crowded room for his younger brother. "Excuse me… sorry…" he muttered, worming his way through the groups of talking, laughing, and, predominantly, drinking, adults. All seemed taken aback to see their friends' thirteen-year-old son mixing with them in a way which made him seem so much older. For Kristoph, however, this was nothing out of the ordinary. "_Je suis désolé_," he said to a French professor, as he nearly knocked the champagne from his hand. The man dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

He glanced towards the open glass doors which led out to the decking. Still more people were stood there, in tight circles, the vast majority of whom were smoking like chimneys. Klavier was fully aware of the fact that he wasn't allowed by the poolside without an adult—but since when had rule-following ever been of a huge concern to him? Kristoph pushed up his glasses, and began to shuffle through the crowds towards the door.

The smoke, which ranged from cheap, mass-produced cigarettes to some of the priciest Cuban cigars, grew thicker as he approached. The scent mingled with those of the scented candles which Mama had so carefully placed about the house, as well as the numerous brands of perfumes and colognes donned by the guests. While it was not an _unpleasant_ odour overall, it was rather suffocating. Kristoph wrinkled his nose, slightly.

It was then that he finally stumbled across someone who was both speaking German _and_ was someone he recognised. Lena Gavin leaned against the doorway, dressed in a black cocktail dress, deep in conversation with a tall, austere woman who seemed to be attempting to both smoke her cigarette, and down her flute of champagne at the same time.

Upon seeing him, the other woman, who, if he recalled correctly, was some kind of editor, alerted Lena. She turned, strands of blonde hair springing from the loose up-do, and smiled at her eldest son. "Kristoph, you remember Carlotta?" she said, placing a hand on the woman's arm.

He nodded, although, truth be told, his memories of her were fleeting at best. "Yes… lovely to see you again," he replied. "I don't suppose that you've seen Klavier anywhere? I excused myself for a couple of minutes, only to find that he'd gone from where I left him," he explained, knowing that Lena had given him the task of watching over his brother for the duration of the evening. "He hasn't gone outside, has he?"

Lena shook her head; more strands flew from the diamante comb. "I haven't seen him, but…"

"Excuse me, you are talking about the little one?" Carlotta asked, taking another cigarette. The two gave a nod. "I have seen him, I think. I have seen him running out of the room, to the hallway," she said, her Italian accent still thick on her words.

Relief flooded through Kristoph's body; not only because his search for his brother had actually taken him somewhere, but because Lena didn't seem to be particularly angry with him. "_Grazie_," he thanked her, thankful of the years spent associating with people from various countries.

Lena, too, seemed to share her son's sentiments. "Yes, thank you…"

She suddenly turned to the deck, from where a sudden, slightly drunken shout echoed above the light chatter. She placed her champagne flute down on the end table which sat beside her. "If you'll excuse me, I think that Sylvia's had a little too much to drink…" throwing a final, apologetic look towards Kristoph and Carlotta, she hurried outside, at a rather remarkable pace, so Kristoph thought, considering the height of her shoes.

Carlotta extinguished her cigarette in an ashtray, leaving a couple of ashes on the table's surface. She shrugged, and wiped them onto the floor. "This, this could be interesting," she said, with a half-smile, before following Lena on shoes of an even greater height.

Unsure if it was due to his distaste for unnecessary drama, or simply because he wasn't one hundred percent sure of who 'Sylvia' actually was, Kristoph, now alone, but with the knowledge that his brother probably hadn't run off somewhere awkward, began, once more, to squeeze through the crowds in the main room.

.-.-.

Carlotta had been correct; Klavier had indeed entered the hallway. Kristoph discovered him sitting at the top of the stairs, partially hidden by the banister, hugging his knees to his chest. He was growing tired; his eyes were half-closed, and his thumb was lodged firmly in his mouth. As Kristoph approached him, the younger boy stretched out his arms. His brother took a seat on the top stair, and pulled the child into his arms.

"You _left_, Krissi…" he murmured, his right hand reaching for Kristoph's neatly-spiralled hair. Usually, Kristoph would tell him to stop, but, this time, he allowed his brother to entwine his fingers in the blond locks. "Why did you leave?"

Kristoph stroked his brother's hair, which had become more and more dishevelled as the night had progressed. It reached the boy's shoulders at that moment, although, were the loose, corkscrew curls not present in it, it would likely reach below his collarbone. "I went to the bathroom, Klavi. I told you as much, didn't I?"

The younger brother paused for a moment. "Oh yeah… but you didn't come back…"

Kristoph shook his head. "I did, though. I came straight back, but you'd gone. I was looking for you everywhere, you know," he said, attempting to comb out some of the tangles in his brother's hair with his fingers. They caught on a particularly tough knot; Klavier winced, and slapped Kristoph's arm. Although it wasn't painful—his strength was not great enough for that—Kristoph nonetheless reprimanded him. "Nien. We never hit out, remember?"

Klavier nodded, bowing his head slightly. "Sorry, Krissi…"

Kristoph smiled. "Apology accepted. But, why didn't you wait where I asked you to?"

The younger boy stared up at his brother, his bright blue eyes incredibly wide. "Too loud…" he said, quietly. "They're all really loud and really big and I…" he trailed off, curling into Kristoph, who gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. It took him a bit of time to understand how his brother, who was usually always so desperate to be the centre of attention, could possibly be so disconcerted by the prospect of a crowd of people.

His realisation was, it transpired, that he couldn't. Not anymore. At 5'9", he stood above the vast majority of the women and some of the men. He tried to remember what it was like when he was his brother's age; he couldn't. His parents weren't the hosts of the events then, and he was always made to remain at the house with one of the servants. But he concluded that it must all be rather overwhelming. Like, he concluded, when one was caught in the elevator of the _Fernsehturm_ with a group of American tourists.

He didn't say anything, and Klavier didn't continue. Instead, he continued attempting to remove the tangles of the younger boy's hair. "You should get this cut…" he sighed, knowing that the fine hair would never remain remotely presentable without the meticulous care his brother wouldn't have the patience to provide it.

"No, I want it long, like yours," Klavier said, surprisingly assertively for a five-year-old. This was shortly followed by a much more childish cry of "stop it!" after Kristoph found, and lost battle with, yet another knot.

Kristoph just rolled his eyes, knowing that his brother would struggle with the sweep of hair he had already perfected, and continued. For once, Klavier was able to sit still for more than a couple of minutes, and Kristoph preferred his brother this way. Contrary to the belief of the overwhelming number of adults he had encountered, boundless energy wasn't 'cute'. It was actually quite irritating, especially when he was trying to concentrate on his schoolwork. Silly, naïve, and more often downright bizarre questions, he found, were never all that helpful.

Klavier's tiredness was all the more evident due to the fact that he very rarely spoke, except in the form of whined complaints. Again, it was unusual, although not by any means a bad thing. So involved was Kristoph, that he failed to notice the tall, strong figure of Georg Gavin climbing the stairs.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are you boys actually getting along?" he asked, with a smile, setting himself down beside his sons. A quiet, soft-spoken man with an intellect of an impossibly vast proportion, he was one who Kristoph wished greatly to emulate. Klavier, less able to harbour admiration in the same way, moved from Kristoph to the arms of his father. "Someone's going to sleep well tonight," Georg observed, as Klavier yawned. The younger boy only nodded, moving into a more comfortable position in his father's arms.

Kristoph pushed his hair out of his face; it had started to fall astray. "Are you enjoying the party, Father?" he asked, knowing that the man never showed a great deal of enthusiasm for the affairs in the months leading up to them. The organisation was vastly Lena's job.

Georg, too, knew that his sentiments weren't exactly secret. "We've had worse…" he shrugged.

"Like the one where von Karma's daughter announced her engagement?" he asked, chuckling at the memory. He hadn't realised before then that people actually threw drinks on each other outside the movies.

His father closed his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling. "_Mein Gott_… and that wasn't even the one I was thinking of…" Kristoph stared questioningly at him; he seemed to be debating whether or not to expand, or return to the party, where he was expected to be. "It was when your mother and I were engaged, and we'd accepted one of my father's invitations…" he hesitated, as though considering how to phrase his next sentence. "Apparently, Manfred's first wife and his then-fiancée had yet to meet. That was certainly an interesting night…"

Kristoph, despite his wish to remain as laid back as his father, was unable to stifle a laugh at this. He had heard the story before, he recalled, in detail from Lena one time.

Georg let out a sigh which seemed almost longing. He looked down affectionately at Klavier, who was very nearly asleep in his arms, and then at Kristoph. "Put him to bed, now," he said, his voice low, to his eldest. He returned the attention to the younger of the boys, nudging him slightly with his arm. "Kristoph's going to put you to bed, okay?"

Klavier muttered something along the lines of, "not tired…"

"I think not," Georg replied, with a quiet laugh. Kristoph moved to take his brother from his father. The boy gave a small, distressed whimper, before settling again. Georg stood, and watched the two of them together for a moment. He began to descend the stairs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Don't grow up, boys. Stay young for as long as you can," he said. Then, he turned, and moved swiftly to the ground floor, and through to the crowded room.


	3. Good Morning

Kristoph had gone to his room not long after settling Klavier, but sleep hadn't come easily for him. He had tried to read to relax his mind, but he was unable to concentrate with the clinking of champagne and broken laughter wafting up the stairs, and had eventually given up and turned off the light. Which had then left him lying awake, semi-consciously straining to hear the conversations. Despite the fact that he'd chosen to remain upstairs out of free will, he still, much to his displeasure, was incredibly self-conscious about it.

To distract himself, he would periodically go and check on Klavier, and a rather more selfish part of him would hope that his brother had woken. He hadn't.

Eventually, at around two or three, when the majority of the guests had dispersed, he had finally been succumbed to fatigue, with the intent of remaining asleep until around the very late morning, as his parents undoubtedly would.

Although, this being said, he wasn't the least bit surprised when he awoke to a shaking on his shoulder. Rubbing his eyes, Kristoph reached for his glasses. "Klavier, it's…" he glanced at the silver alarm clock on his bedside table. It read as somewhere around eight-thirty, which, for Klavier, would unquestionably count as sleeping in. He groaned inwardly. "Klavier, I didn't get to sleep 'til past two…"

Klavier stamped his foot. "But I'm _hungry_, Krissi…" he whined, placing a hand on his stomach as if to emphasise the fact. "And Mama wouldn't—"

"You didn't wake Mama, did you?" Kristoph asked, with a sigh, knowing already what the answer would be. He knew that his parents would often stay downstairs until at least five on the night of a party, to lessen the workload on Elke the next morning. Klavier shook his head, quickly, but Kristoph knew exactly when his brother was lying to him. And this, rather regrettably, was one of those times. "Klavier."

The younger boy began chewing his thumb—a habit Kristoph had been trying, unsuccessfully so far, to get him to break. "I didn't want to wake you because you get angry with me…"

Kristoph, despite his annoyance, forced a smile. "No, this is a reasonable time, on the whole. What I _don't_ like is when you jump on me to wake me. Or when you decide to get everyone up at four on Christmas day."

"Oh…" was the reply. "But I can't sleep on Christmas Eve…"

"I think we're all aware of that," Kristoph muttered, recalling how he and their parents would be woken every hour or so to be asked the time. Well, Klavier knew now what the acceptable time for waking the family was. Even if he still wasn't able to sleep past it. He forced himself into an upright position; he did so too quickly, and had to pause a moment while the dizziness wore off. He blinked, quickly. "Could you pass me that, please?" he asked Klavier, pointing in the direction of the dressing gown at the foot of the bed. He obliged, and Kristoph pulled it over his shoulders. "Just don't make a habit of this," he warned, knowing full well that his words would be forgotten within the next five minutes.

"I won't," Klavier assured him, surprisingly serious for one of his age.

Kristoph, more slowly this time, stood, and quickly tied back his hair. It wasn't perfect, nor was it as neat as he would've liked it, but he knew there was not a chance that Klavier would be willing to wait the hour or so it took for him to get it exactly as he wanted it. Already, strands were coming loose. Klavier seemed to be unsuccessfully stifling a laugh. "What?" Kristoph asked, but kindly, this time.

"Nothing…" Klavier giggled. As far as his own hair was concerned, it was probably even worse; un-brushed, the curls bore a striking resemblance to a bird's nest. As Kristoph made his way towards the door, he felt a tug on the dressing gown's tie. He glanced down at his brother. "Umm… Krissi…" Klavier stretched his arms upwards.

Kristoph knew exactly what he was asking. "No," he said, firmly. "You're five. Far too old for that."

Klavier looked away, dejected. "But Mama—"

_Mama wants to keep you little for as long as she can_, he thought to himself. "But I'm not Mama, though, am I?" he replied.

"No… you're taller, I think… and you're not a grown-up… and you're not a lady…" Klavier said, thoughtfully. "But, please, Krissi…"

Kristoph rolled his eyes. "Was that really the order in which you thought of things?" he smiled, in spite of himself. There were _many_ differences between himself and Lena—things which Klavier was still far too young to understand. Nonetheless, this conversation, bizarre though it undeniably was, had put him in a surprisingly positive mood. "Right, fine…" he relented, but was much less put-out than his tone suggested. "But, again. This isn't going to become a regular occurrence, is it, now?"

"It won't," Klavier repeated, with the same sincerity as he had used earlier. He was surprisingly heavier than Kristoph had expected; he staggered for a moment in surprise. Klavier, unsettled by this, clung tightly to Kristoph's neck. "Krissi?"

"Klavier," he said, calmly. "Would you be so kind as to loosen your hold slightly?"

Klavier seemed to realise what he was doing. "Oh. Sorry…" he relaxed his arms, but kept them around Kristoph.

Kristoph, now balancing Klavier on his hip, exited the room, closing the door behind him as a force of habit. As he passed the door to his parents' bedroom, he paused, listening for any sound that his brother's foolishness might have prevented them from continuing their slumber. However, luckily, the absence of sound suggested that it had not. Kristoph breathed a sigh of relief, before continuing.

.-.-.

"How is it?" Kristoph asked, glancing over his shoulder at his brother, who was sat at the table enjoying—rather untidily—a piece of toast. He wasn't particularly skilled in the kitchen; as much as Klavier had begged for pancakes, he decided that avoiding starting a house fire was more of a priority than pandering to his brother's every needs. That, and his arms still ached from carrying the child to the kitchen.

Klavier nodded, and muttered something unintelligible. Kristoph didn't have the energy to attempt to perfect his behaviour. Instead, he stood idly by as he waited for the kettle to boil for a cup of tea he was craving.

It was then, as he reached for one of the few washed mugs on the sideboard, that the staccato beeping of the house phone sounded through the otherwise quiet house. Adamant that his parents should not be woken, Kristoph leaped to it, sending two bowls and a glass crashing to the tiled floor. Klavier jumped at this.

"Stay there," Kristoph ordered him, barely having time to curse under his breath at the smashed crockery. He reached for the phone, although, if his parents hadn't woken then, they undoubtedly would be now. "Hello, Kristoph Gavin speaking."

"Sorry for calling so early, but I'm a busy man, you see," the voice—the man—said. There was a subtle hint of a Bavarian accent to his voice. "Tell me, is Georg Gavin available?"

"I'm sorry, who is this?" though he wasn't sure why, there was something about the man he found unnerving.

"Ah, yes, of course. I do apologise. My name is Emmerich Geier. I believe Mr Gavin knows of me. Now, tell me. Is he available?"

Despite being on the phone, Kristoph shook his head. "He's currently asleep, I'm afraid. There was a kind of social event last night, you see. I doubt he will be able to talk until around midday."

Klavier, who was now bound to the chair by Kristoph's word, waved frantically at Kristoph in an attempt to gain his attention. "Who is it, Krissi?" he asked, rather more loudly than he'd intended. Kristoph didn't reply, only raising a finger to his lips, before returning his full attention to the conversation.

The man—Geier—audibly sighed, much to Kristoph's distaste. "Yes. I see. I attended myself, as a matter of fact. When he rises, would you mind terribly asking him to contact me this evening? It is a matter of great importance, I can assure you."

"I'll let him know…" Kristoph said. His jaw was clenched, although it took him until that moment to realise it. Geier thanked him, although he was clearly displeased about being unable to get his own way. After having said goodbye, Kristoph placed the phone back in the receiver, moving once more to the kettle so as to re-boil the water.

His priority, however, was the shards of glass and porcelain which currently littered the floor. It was then that he realised that he had no idea where Elke kept the sort of equipment he required, such as a dustpan and brush. He instead reached for the tea towel. Using it to shield his hands from the sharp edges, he began scooping up the remains. So engaged was he, that he only noticed Georg entering the room after hearing Klavier's excited cries.

He looked up. "Father… _guten Morgen_."

"_Guten Morgen_, Kristoph," Georg said, with Klavier in his arms. The man was entirely more comfortable with Klavier in his arms than Kristoph had been; then again, Georg's height considerably exceeded that of his eldest. "Now, tell me, before I ask what has happened here: who was that you were receiving so coldly on the phone just now?"

Kristoph's face flushed; he hadn't realised that his voice had been quite so icy. "Herr Geier, I think he said… apparently, he knows of you and has something of vital importance to discuss with you."

Georg's expression darkened, shadows forming across his dark skin. "Geier. I should have known…" he shifted Klavier's weight higher up his hip, before leaning towards Kristoph. "Listen. If Emmerich Geier calls again, please do not pick up the phone."

Kristoph frowned. "Why ever not?" he asked, although he was secretly rather proud that his suspicions referring to the mysterious caller had been correct.

Georg shook his head. "Do not concern yourself, it is nothing of any importance."

"Papa…" Klavier piped up, suddenly, more nervously than he had earlier. "Why don't you and Krissi like him?"

Their father attempted to relax his features. "To put it this way, Klavier, he is not an honest man. Nor is he particularly pleasant. I'm sure Kristoph, being as clever as he is, realised this from their conversation."

Klavier nodded, slowly. "Okay… Papa…" he began, cautiously. "Can we have pancakes?"


End file.
